Putting the 'Drab' in 'Drabble'
by ForsakenKalika
Summary: Just a ForsakenKalika drabble collection, ranging from T-M, with various pairings and scenarios. Mainly Hermione-centric. See? Drab.
1. Laundry Day - Dramione

Decided to throw all my Hermione-centric drabbles in one place. Unlike "Completion," these are all actually done. Some are open-ended, some have a clear finish, all are taking up space on my Drive.

Nothing here is Brit-picked or beta-read, so if you find an error, please let me know. If you have requests, they can be sent as a private message or requested on my ForsakenKalika facebook page.

Standard disclaimer applies. Warnings/ratings per chapter.

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**Laundry Day - Dramione, M-rated for language/content**

"Jesus Christ, does this kid wear every single thing he owns in a day?" Hermione griped, lugging a cloth laundry hamper onto the stoop at Grimmauld to go to the local coin wash. '_On her only day off from either classes or work,'_ she sighed irritably, tucking her hair behind her ear and concentrating on not breaking the key off in the door. '_Or both.'_

"Talking to oneself is generally a sign of insanity, Granger," a deep voice rumbled behind her, and she jumped with a shriek - "Morgana's mooseknuckle!" Whirling around for the source of the hysterical laughter and initial fright, Hermione spotted one Draco Lucius Malfoy leaning against the iron handrails clutching his stomach and shaking.

Huffing, she flew to action collecting the erstwhile laundry, thrown about by her scare. Trust the git to laugh at her instead of being a gentleman and apologizing, or -

"Don't forget these, Granger." Finally having gained control of himself, Malfoy had spotted a bundle of fabric tucked beneath the edge of the cloth container. In her mood, she'd probably have missed it completely. It was only upon picking them up that he realized they were a pair of lacy grey knickers. _Granger's_ lacy grey knickers. Well now. He dangled them from his index finger, letting them dangle lewdly before her eyes.

She snatched them off his digit and shoved them deep within the bag, fighting a cringe when her fingers slipped against the still-moist remnants of Teddy's teething biscuit. At least, she hoped. Surreptitiously, Hermione wiped her fingers off on another piece of clothing before calmly withdrawing her arm.

Shoving past him, Hermione started walking down the steps, throwing over her shoulder, "Harry's not home, Malfoy. He and Teddy are at Andy's for the day to visit with your mum." Maybe he'd leave if she got far enough away, Hermione considered, her steps speeding up slightly. It was a lost cause when she heard him jog up behind her.

"I have to admit, I'm a bit disappointed," Draco started, falling into step beside her and taking the laundry bag from her hands to carry it.

"Oh?" She asked drily. Colour her shocked.

"I had hoped you would be _in_ them, the first time I saw your knickers." What. In her head, everything stopped. No whirring background processes, no lingering academic curiosities. Nothing. And then it rebooted.

"Oh?" Hermione repeated faintly, face bright red while she buffered and reminded herself that he was probably just having her on. That was it. Draco had made a nuisance of himself since becoming Harry's training partner, taking great pleasure in getting a reaction from her, Harry's roommate, in any way he could. Lately, his attempts had been more, ahem, risqué.

Up ahead, the coin wash came into view, eliciting an inward sigh of relief. Salvation was but steps away. Overconfident, she tossed a smart comment back when she reached for the door handle. "Think about my knickers often, then?"

Heat overtook her, starting at her back, Malfoy's larger frame gently pressed _just so_. A strong hand curled over her own on the metal bar of the handle. His lips grazed her ear while he opened the door, still trapping her hand beneath his. "You and your knickers are my favourite things to think about."

Hermione shivered, her eyes half-lidded of their own accord, allowing a smirking Malfoy to sidle past her and through the door with the hamper. She wasn't so sure he was having her on at all now. If the half-hard bulge which had pressed against the cheek of her arse was any indication. Letting the door close behind her, Hermione followed the blond, ignoring the fluttering she felt low in her abdomen at the sight of a dressed-down Draco Malfoy doing something domestic.

It was just oddly hot. More attractive still was the wicked shine to his eyes in the reflection of the washroom mirror while he pounded her from behind between wash cycles. Maybe it was that last orgasm, Hermione considered as she watched Malfoy stack the folded clothes neatly back into a scourgified laundry hamper, but she could stand a few more laundry days with Draco Malfoy.


	2. In the Know - Tomione

Standard disclaimers apply

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**In the Know - Tomione, T-rated for language/content**

"Enter!" He called in response to the knock on his bedroom door.

"Oh, dear!" Hermione choked out along with a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, no..." the flyaway curls around her face bounced as she shook her head. One look to the glower on his face had her walking to his wardrobe. "Really, Tom. Who talked you into that colour?" Selecting a finely tailored yet older vest, a flick of her wand transfigured it a lovely jeweled aubergine.

The diminutive girl twirled, holding it out. "Try this." Her tone and gaze brooked no argument, and while Tom was definitely not one to order around, he found himself unable to stop himself from following her directions. He shucked the offending garment from his lean frame; the cut was too wide in the shoulders, the waist too low. It was the type of vest an unconfident rotund man might wear to redistribute his inferiority and sizable midsection. And the colour. Appalling. Slughorn might appreciate a gift from his favourite student.

A brow raised without his permission. The Mudblood had manhandled him to turn, and was now holding her choice out for him to don. Tom allowed her to work the silk up his arms and onto his shoulders, distinctly not reacting to the soft movements sending goose pimples in their wake.

Once again, her tiny hands were on his shoulders, spinning him back to face her. With sharp focus, she swiftly clasped the buttons before stepping away.

"You need a tie." Hermione looked expectantly at the tall Slytherin. He gazed back unperturbed. "Well? Where are they?" Her tone was impatient and demanding. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was insane or just stupid. If he hadn't personally seen her excel in every class, he would assume the latter. He was still unsure about the former.

As it was, he simply waved a hand at his bureau and his selection of ties came forward. "Huh. Nifty," was all she said. Another colloquialism from her time, this one sounding like approval. He hated the small part of himself that smiled proudly with her praise at such simple magics. That part was summarily locked in a cage and Crucio'd.

"Cerci's nipples, Tom, who IS your tailor?! These are terrible!" Holding a wide mustard yellow in one hand and clenching a thinner bright peach in the other, her expression was murderous. His pants tightened a bit when she snorted, "They should be drawn and quartered for this disgrace."

Tom Riddle wasn't a vain man, though one wouldn't know it by looking at him. Tall, but not skinny, he had the musculature of a Quidditch chaser. All broad shoulders and lean torso. Black hair with a natural slight curl laid just so over his handsome face. Looking in the mirror, however, he even had to admit, in the shade the Mudblood had chosen, he cut quite the figure. 'Damn, I look good.'

She was back in a blink, appearing next to him in the mirror so abruptly, he'd have jumped- if he were someone prone to such reactions. The part of himself he was SURE was supposed to be a drooling vegetable by now crowed from its cage at the reflection of the two. The Mudblood was working a subtle glamour on the tie she had chosen to better complement the vest she had altered. Her amber eyes narrowed in concentration, the tip of her tongue peeking out as she decided. They looked like a-

"There you go!" She patted his chest and stepped away. Tom was glad for the respite from his observations. Hermione helped him shrug into his dress robes and he once again eyed his reflection. "Does it meet your approval?" He nodded, choosing to overlook the annoyance of her improper address.

"It does." He watched her reflection walk to the door, turn, and give him a look he couldn't quite understand.

"I'll see you in a bit, Mr. Riddle." She was gone, the door closed, before he even realized that he wanted her to keep calling him 'Tom'.

Xx Xx Xx

The day Hermione Granger arrived in 1944 was a particularly inauspicious one. She had awoken, sipped her tea- liberally dosed with brandy- and retrieved her post, both Muggle and Owl.

There. That had been her mistake. She should have known, upon receiving a letter addressed to her in her own handwriting, that something truly irritating was about to happen. Hermione dutifully cast whatever she could to make sure the letter was safe to open. It was. That did nothing to soften the jabs of anxiety she was feeling just from turning it over in her hand.

Her second mistake. Sure, the envelope was safe to touch. Even when she had scooped the pile of adverts and bills up to rifle through them, she had touched it probably twice, at the very least once. No, her mistake was assuming the letter inside was also safe.

'Oh... bollocks!' Was her last thought before being surrounded with energy.

Nine months later, she was top of her Seventh Year class and only one point behind one other person. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Her landing in 1944 wasn't a smooth one. One moment she was whirling through time and space, perfectly cognizant and quite inconvenienced. The next, she was arse over tea kettle in the courtyard of Hogwarts, a heavy weight atop.

"The one time I wear a dress, I end up with my ankles next to my ears," she grumbled without thinking. Her eyes shot up and widened. 'No fucking way.' Immediately, her Occlumency training kicked in and her shields raised, but not before one perfectly shaped brow raised overtop cold blue-green eyes.

"I can't imagine wandering about without clothing is much of a deterrent, either."

Without thinking, she snorted and caught herself with a grimace a moment later. He had stood up by now, and was offering her a hand, which she gratefully took.

"I normally wear trousers," she clarified, dusting herself off. "Hermione Granger." Pulling twigs from her hair with her left, she extended her right hand.

"Tom Riddle."

Oo Oo Oo

Rule Number One when meeting the Dark Lords younger self: keep your shields up. Following this quite closely was Rule Number Two, which she admitted was similar to what people say about most wild animals: show no fear.

So when Hermione realized the man on top of her was the (very attractive) younger counterpart to the creature who had just been defeated some months earlier in her time, she quickly decided to put her Big Girl Knickers on and her best foot forward. Er... figuratively, as she was still on her back at that point.

Truthfully, she was terrified, but knew better than to allow him to see that. Charismatic and charming it was, then. He would be suspicious of her anyway, she reasoned, but it would be better for her to treat him as she would any other reasonably (read: sinfully) attractive male.

The Devil was an angel, too, after all.

A nonverbal Accio had her wand flying to her hand, and she efficiently removed the grass stains and bits of mud from herself while he watched. She noted his keen eyes taking in every detail and movement, cataloguing them for future puzzling. A tic of his jaw told her he had noticed her noticing him. Hermione stood carefully, mind whirring through possible scenarios. 'Sod it, I'll make it up on the fly,' she thought, relaxing into a comfortable but ready stance.

"I suppose you've got a good theory as to how I came to be here?" Tom smirked at her and held up two fingers, causing her to bark a low laugh. "Two? Oh, do tell, Mr. Riddle." That he was willing to entertain her rather than just kill her on the spot told her he had concluded she was useful in some way. Depending on when she had arrived, she might be able to use him right back. But first, she had to find that meddlesome old man.

Hermione turned toward the entrance which would take her the quickest route to Dumbledore's classroom, remembering he was a Professor at this time. Tom stepped next to her and offered his arm. With barely a pause, she placed her hand inside the crook of his elbow and smiled at him amicably, allowing him to set a slow, comfortable pace.

"Well, Ms. Granger, you could have Apparated, though unlikely." Riddle began, lips curling upward only to drop into an unimpressed scowl when she interrupted him. Quickly, he smoothed his expression to a more neutral one, seeming to settle on stoic.

"The wards," she commented, to which he nodded and reached to hold a door for her. Inwardly, Hermione was panicking. Riddle had looked at her with such potent intent, the sounds of Bellatrix Lestrange's shrill voice screaming the Cruciatus had echoed in her ears for a moment. Outwardly, however, she nodded her head at him in thanks and smiled shyly in the face of his manners.

"Or," he continued, "judging by your unfortunate landing, but mostly by the abrupt appearance and lingering magic, you're a time traveller." He shifted his eyes her way to observe her response. He was hoping to catch her off guard, but Hermione was well aware how intelligent Voldemort had been as a teenager. How calculating and methodical, as well.

"Well, then, Mr. Riddle, you've figured it out." Hermione smiled and patted his arm companionably. A shiver was barely held back when those dark eyes narrowed at her, moving rapidly between her face and the hand which was now laid lightly on his bicep. She resolutely did not remove her small appendage, regardless of his disdainful stare. "Would you mind ever so telling me what year I've found myself in? I have my suspicions, but, well, confirmation is best."

"You've landed in 1944. School begins tomorrow." Tom watched her process the information, annoyed that she gave nothing away. She was intriguing, how she remained calm and conversational despite knowing he was aware it was all an act.

"Huh." She huffed. "Same as when I left '98."

'Just over 50 years in the future,' he noted. This Hermione Granger would be a valuable source with that sort of knowledge. He could, perhaps, tolerate being seen with her. She seemed to be polite, engaging, and certainly understood the social mores of a time before her own, which told him she was intelligent and well-bred.

"Oh, before I forget, is Dumbledore in?"

Tom scowled. 'Nevermind.'

Xx Xx Xx

"Please welcome a transfer student. Miss Hermione Granger hails to us from-" Dippet looked to Dumbledore, who shook his head. "Err, elsewhere. Her sponsor, after hearing of her circumstances, saw fit to have her join our esteemed school. Please be sure to give her your warmest welcome. Miss Granger, if you would?"

Oh, the Sorting Hat. How she had missed the manky old thing.

'Ahhh, Miss Granger! It has been a long time! Or will be! At any rate, you've been a true Gryffindor, brave and loyal to the last!'

Yes, she knew this. She had already anticipated being placed back in her house.

'Ahh, but no one is any one thing, wouldn't you agree, my dear? If I can remember- foresee- time is a funny thing, isn't it?'

'Not to be rude, but can we please move this along? I've very important work to be done.' She thought desperately, hoping the Hat would get to putting her in Gryffindor already. Visions of red and gold swam before her eyes (though, if she were being honest, it was nearly TOO much red, and the gold was a bit... gaudy).

'Yes, yes, child. So impatient. You had a choice, then. Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Now, you have no choice. Your past, your future, everything you've done and learned to become who you have, who you are yet to be, only leave one option.'

Dread began to coil in her gut. 'Oh no...'

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Bollocks."

"Granger, hnn?" an oily voice asked from just down the table. Glares and whispers had met her when she had first walked up to the table, but she had met each harsh eye with a hairy one of her own, and each whisper with her nose in the air. Harry's stalking of Malfoy over sixth year was paying off, she mused to herself as she continued to mimic the future Snake's mannerisms and general demeanor. Hermione finally spotted a free seat near a group of Seventh Years, and sidled over with a nonchalance she didn't feel.

Four pairs of eyes stared at her with a range of emotion behind each of them. The student next to her, a roguish fellow with dirty blond hair and cerulean eyes glared as though she were interrupting a business meeting. A mixture of 'be off, peasant' and 'I told you never to call me at this number'. He was the first to turn his shoulder to her dismissively, and the only, though he still watched her out of his periphery.

'Avery,' she thought, recalling the same cold stare, perhaps even more disdainful, across the battlefield before it turned vacant with death.

The boy seated across from him, diagonally to her, reacted to her presence as though she were a particularly interesting bug he could pin to a board and observe. The glint of something darker in his nearly black eyes told her she would likely not be dead first if he did decide to autopsy her. A curl of his long brown hair flopped in his face and replaced the bloodlust in his eyes with annoyance as quickly as it had shown. Hermione didn't recognize anything about him from her future, so her gaze passed on quickly.

Next to him, another boy eyed her beneath hooded lids. The bored grey stare down his nose at her conveyed that he had already decided she was unworthy of his time, but was content to watch her reactions. His platinum blond hair told her this was a Malfoy. 'Possibly Abraxus,' she recalled the profile of the Malfoy family the Prophet had run during their trials a few weeks past. He would be Draco's grandfather. A sinking suspicion gathered in her gut.

The boy on the other side of Avery stifled a snort behind his hand, darting his hazel eyes away from her. Short black hair curled on his head like a mop, but she would know those eyes anywhere. She remembered Harry's story about the pensieve and the search for Gaunt's ring. Noticing the empty seat on the other side of Malfoy, the roiling in her stomach doubled.

"Ahh, Miss Granger. We meet again," a voice intoned behind her. Hermione smiled wryly despite herself and turned her head to watch the tall boy walk round to his seat next to Malfoy.

"So it seems, Mr. Riddle," she replied evenly. The laughing boy had moved from snorts to chuckles, setting her teeth on edge, before he abruptly cut them off to question her.

"Granger, hnn? S'not a pureblood name, now, is it?" he picked his teeth with his pinky nail, watching her carefully from the side of his eye. The other boys had also turned to watch her, expressions shuttered. Except Riddle, she noted. He seemed to wait to display any reaction, ready to tailor his emotion to the scenario.

If he wanted a show, she would give him one.

"And you are?" she drawled out, resting her elbow on the table and placing her chin in her palm. Her chocolate brown eyes met the boy's boldly in challenge. From the corner of her eye, she could see Riddle shifting in his seat.

"Lestrange," the boy replied at last, taking care to draw out the last syllable pompously.

"I shouldn't think _you_ would be in a position to know, would you Lestrange?" Hermione replied, condescension dripping from her words while she moved her gaze to her nails. He made as though to stand, but Riddle put a hand on Lestrange's shoulder, reminding him in a low tone that they were still in the Great Hall.

"Besides," Riddle continued, "Miss Granger comes to us from the future. It's entirely reasonable to not have heard of her family name for that simple fact." A glare to Lestrange had the boy mumbling apologies to Hermione and she nodded back politely, glaring at him below her lashes. Dinner was mainly eaten in silence, though a few of the standard questions were lobbed her way. Standard, she supposed, for someone whose housemates knew had time travelled.

"What year are you from?" Rosier, the creepy boy across from her asked between sips of pumpkin juice.

"Oh, er, 1998," she replied, sipping hers and making a face. "It's hard to believe it, but the pumpkin juice never gets better. 50 years and it still tastes just awful." Daintily dabbing her lips on her napkin, she raised her eyes to the boys.

Avery turned to fully stare at her, while the toothpick Lestrange was chewing on fell to his lap. Rosier lost a bit of the mania he had graced her with earlier, but she didn't think the level of interest he was displaying toward her was much better. Malfoy seemed stoic still, but even he had lost some of his haughtiness. His grey eyes were crinkled slightly in thought below furrowed blond brows. For a moment, there was complete silence, until, at once, they started peppering her with questions.

The only one not nearly interrogating the brunette witch was Riddle. Rather, he was grinning like a wolf at her, enjoying her discomfort at the scrutiny of his peers. His expression turned mockingly sympathetic at her exasperated face before he turned his attention and addressed his little gang.

"Gentlemen, please. You're making the poor girl uncomfortable. You can't expect her to tell us everything she knows," his smooth tone would have made her believe him if he were anyone other than Tom fucking Riddle.

Picking up her satchel and standing, Hermione nodded at each of the young men she had been seated with. "Thank you for keeping my company this evening, gentlemen. I shall see you in the morning, I suppose." She began to walk toward the doors, stopping for a moment, before whirling and walking back. Leaning one hand against the table next to Riddle, she moved close. "You have no idea what I know… _my Lord_."

His shocked and enraged reaction was all the fodder she needed for the smirk which spilled across her lips. Standing once more and moving hastily out the doors, Hermione quickly disillusioned herself, silencing her feet, and took off toward the dungeons before Riddle could catch her up. She had more planning to do.


End file.
